"Hey," she said. "What's up, Thaddeus?"
"I'm down here at The Petri Dish thinking about you. Wanta drop by and knock back a few with me?"
"Sure. I'm finishing up a psych paper. Can you give me forty-five minutes?"
"I'll be waiting. So long, lady."
"Keep the lights on."
She arrived at half past eight. By that time, Thaddeus had downed two draft beers and shot two rounds of pool. Plus, he had bought a round of drinks for the players at his pool table. He was happy and charming by the time Nikki walked up and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Let's sit down," she yelled above the sound system. "We need to talk."
"I'm down with that," he said. "And I just saw a table open up. Hurry!"
A two-chair table with wire legs and a round green top had been vacated. Nikki turned and made her way to it just as two young professionals in suits and ties reached it too.
"After you, Miss," said the friendly, youthful black man. He held out a hand, indicating Nikki should sit down. Thaddeus swooped in right behind her and the two young men laughed and went off looking for another perch in the bar.
"Well," she said, and gave the waitress her order.
"I'm good," Thaddeus said. "My limit is three beers in three hours or I fall off my motor scooter."
"Are you looking for a car now that you're making the big bucks?"
He shrugged. "I honestly don't know. Truth is, I don't really feel like getting all caught up with car payments right now. That seems a little risky."
She smiled and wrinkled up her nose. "Don't be silly! Third in your class? Everyone wants to hire you, Thad. You're fresh meat."
"I am? I'm already feeling like an old worn-out shoe."
"Is my dad that hard on you, really?"
He looked away from her. "It's not just that. Just a lot of stuff going on. Forgive me, Nik, I'm not really supposed to be talking about it."
"Well, let's change the subject, shall we? Let's talk about constitutional law."
"Let's not and say we did. How about we talk about getting away together Saturday night. Holing up in some grand hotel and watching videos all night."
She surveyed him with her head tilted back.
"That's it? Videos is the best you can do?"
"Well," he said. "If anything else develops, so be it."
"I'm not that kind of girl, Thaddeus Murfee," she said coyly.
"Really? What kind are you?"
"I'm the kind who thought you'd never ask! I'd love to spend Saturday night with you at some swank hotel. Or in the park. Or at the zoo. Or in that little apartment you told me about, the one where the roommates' beds bang against the walls all night. Now that's romantic."
He laughed and couldn't stop. Then, "I like a girl who knows what she wants."
She smiled sheepishly. "Well, Mr. Murfee, I happen to like a guy who has what I want."
"What might that be?"
"Style and grace. You're a good guy, Murf. My dad is lucky to have you taking care of him."
Thaddeus was unable to respond. If she only knew, he was thinking. I'm about to take her dad down, help put him in prison, and she's grateful he has me. OMG!
There was a lull. Then she spoke up. "Did I say something wrong about my dad? He is lucky to have you, isn't he?"
"Absolutely," Thaddeus lied, and hated himself for lying. What the hell was he even thinking, preparing to spend the night with the daughter of the man he was going to help put in prison. It wasn't right and she would hate him for it if it happened. Plus he would feel like he had used her. Used her to satisfy himself--he hadn't been with a girl in six months. Not having any money had turned him into a stay-at-home curmudgeon, as he saw it. And now his chance to have fun and frolic in the hay had come around and he was on a self-inflicted guilt trip.
"So let's do this," he continued. "How about I check a few things at the office in the morning and then I call to confirm tomorrow night?"
Her face fell. "What, we can't confirm now?"
"Oh, you know how it is. I'm just always nervous something's going to come in at the last minute and wreck my plans. I'm really on-call twenty-four/seven."
"You are? My dad didn't say anything about that."
"Well, there're probably a few things like that which are on the down-low. Hours and times and salaries--it's all pretty hush-hush with the feds."
She leaned back and brushed a length of hair back from her face.
"That's for sure. My dad complains about DOJ oversight constantly. People think U.S. Attorneys have total autonomy, but they really don't. There's always someone to answer to."
"I guess law is always like that. If it's not the government, it's the bar association. Those people are always breathing down your neck."
"That doesn't sound like great fun," she said.
Nikki's drink order arrived--finally--and Thaddeus threw a ten-dollar bill on the table.
"Flush are we?" she chided him.
He blushed. "We are. Finally."
"So what to buy first?"
"First? Tomorrow afternoon I'm going shopping for sheets for my bed. I haven't had any sheets since I started law school."
"You must be joking!"
"Luxurious sheets. What color do you like?"
"Black."
"Black sheets it is. Hopefully we'll get to break them in."
She leaned in and smiled. "Why wouldn't we?"
He shrugged. "We will. If my luck holds."
"You don't need luck, Thaddeus. You've got me."
14
Later Friday night, Sing Di Hoa met Broyles in the same restaurant parking lot as before.
"You needed to hear this without delay," said the smaller man. Broyles would describe the man's eyes as fiery, later that night when he recalled their meeting. Hoa was definitely onto something.
"My daughter met Mr. Murfee tonight. Is that what this is about?"
"We eavesdropped on their conversation. But even before he met your daughter, he met with Melissa McGrant."
"Melissa McGrant?"
"Yes. He said she was trying to get him to plant a video camera in your office."
Broyles was startled but not surprised. First the young lawyer had followed them, and now a video camera.
"I say we do nothing," said Broyles. "If we react or if we remove the camera then we've put them on notice that we're onto them. Not good, Mr. Hoa."
"Exactly," said Hoa. "We want you to continue as usual in your office. But we also need to make sure there are no inadvertent statements by you that could come back to haunt. Or, worse, blow our cover, as you Americans say. We don't want our cover blown."
"Of course not. And it won't be. I can promise you that."
Hoa frowned. "There's something else, too. Some of my superiors want you gone.”
Broyles' heart leapt in his chest. Want you gone? He thought. What the hell did that mean?
“Want me gone? You're wanting me to vanish already?"
"Let me be perfectly open with you, Mr. Broyles. Yes, some want you to vanish. And there are some who wish you dead. Only then will they be comfortable that you won't blow it up between us. You've threatened to do that, you know."
"But that was just commentary!" Broyles protested. "I wouldn't ever actually do that."
"Still, I had to report what you said. My best advice to you? Pack your toothbrush and vanish."
"What about the money I need? What about the ten million you promised?"
"It will be there. Your account in the Cayman Islands will receive a deposit by Monday afternoon. After that, we all want you gone."
"So be it, then," Broyles said. He had to agree. The alternative course of action if he failed to agree was unacceptable. Just for a moment he felt a flutter of hope: might Jeannette come with him? Then he remembered Jeannette. Poor, plodding Jeannette. She'd never had a love of adventure. She'd never go along with leaving her life behind. But so what? There were other women in the world. More desirable ones,
as well. But that left Nikki and her brothers. It would be all but impossible to leave them behind. Whatever; he would cross that bridge later on. There would be some way to contact the kids once he got settled into his new life. He saw no reason why they couldn't work something out.
"So you'll leave?"
Broyles leaned forward on the curb and shielded his eyes from a passing car.
"As you say, I'll vanish. Be gone by Tuesday night."
"Excellent. Then I'll report that back. Our friends will be happy to hear."
Broyles suddenly shivered. "Just keep them away from me, Hoa. Can you promise me that?"
"Consider it done. You cooperate and there won't be a problem. I promise you that."
"Yes." Broyles knew in the world of espionage there were no promises. Words meant nothing. Only consequences counted. Actions and reactions--that was how you knew your enemy's mind.
Enemy. Indeed, it had come around to that. The Chinese were no longer his partners. They were now his number one enemy. He would act accordingly.
When they were done, Broyles climbed onto his Piaggio and threaded through stop-and-go traffic. Then he maneuvered across town to a seedy little apartment complex across from an industrial park. He went around back and parked in the alley. He crept up to the unit on the corner and let himself inside.
Home. Really? It had actually come down to just him and an apartment one step above a flophouse?
But it was furnished. Furnished and rented to Jackson L. Streeter.
Previously known as Franklin J. Broyles.
15
F Street is all that separates the U.S. Attorney's office from the FBI headquarters in Washington. It is a somewhat busy street, one that is carefully surveilled from strategic locations in the area for vehicles that might try to detonate a bomb on either side.
It was Monday morning and McGrant was setting up her day. She watched as FBI agent Naomi Ranski crossed F Street on her way over.
So far, it hasn't happened and we have been lucky, thought Melissa McGrant, staring out her third floor window. Her thoughts focused on the specter of China and Russia and North Korea and Iran. The time had arrived; McGrant saw it every day: cyberattacks, cybercrime, intrusions and data theft. Plus, out and out terror. Thousands of agents knew it was only a matter of time before federal buildings in the nation's capital would be incinerated by the next generation of explosive devices. They were coming. She turned away from her office window feeling overwhelmed. But she had an idea, a tiny chink in China's armor. It wasn't much, but it was a place to start. With the FBI's lead, of course.
McGrant's job was to protect American citizens. In doing so she was a true warrior through and through. Would she hesitate to spy on any government official if she believed they were out to do harm to the country? Not one second would she hesitate. In fact, this morning she was preparing to prove that, as she considered with the FBI what to do about Franklin J. Broyles and his Chinese comrades now that they had been photographed exchanging a briefcase. It was the smoking gun they had needed. Beyond that, what came after Broyles was locked up? She had her ideas about that. Hopefully, Ranski would agree.
What Broyles had been up to--what secrets had been passed off--was known. The DOJ and FBI had their methods. There had been the handoff at the reservoir sluice gate. And there had been two more meetings between the players since that night, both in the backlot of a local restaurant. The two additional meetings had not included exchanges of any kind, so the FBI was speculating that those two meetings were planning sessions. Broyles wasn’t talking to anyone about any of it so McGrant and Ranski were out of that loop. But something was about to break and the FBI meant to be out ahead of it.
McGrant's receptionist gave a half-smile and nod as Ranski passed by. Ranski entered McGrant's inner office without bothering to knock. They went way back and long ago had established how they worked together. Knocking was no longer required.
Ranski tossed a manila envelope onto McGrant's desk. McGrant looked up in question.
"Surveillance," said Ranski. "Hoa and Broyles. Taken from across the street and from the rooftop."
"Where?"
"Denny's Restaurant."
"Anyone make your people?"
Ranski looked at her old confidante with a half-sneer. "You kidding?"
"All right, then. Let's see what we have."
McGrant slid the dozen photographs out of the envelope.
"Arriving, leaving. What the hell is Broyles riding?"
"Three-wheeled scooter. That's how he's losing our people in traffic, filtering up to stop lights between lanes of standstill traffic."
"So?"
"So we've got a helicopter. He never looks up."
"I'm guessing his engine drowns it out."
"No one ever said he was into the world of spy craft. Most of the time he doesn't even bother looking behind himself. It's easy-peasy for our guys."
"What else?"
Ranski opened a second folder. "These are shots of the meeting at the reservoir. Broyles handing off his briefcase to Hoa."
"Was Thaddeus Murfee able to follow him?"
"He did. He observed all this from a distance."
"The little bastard never told me about seeing it. He's holding out on me."
"So he can't be trusted."
"Yes and no. He was able to follow Broyles and that's saying something since your guys have lost him more than once. But you're right, I don't like that he hasn't confided in me. But you know what? I think that's more a matter of convincing him we're the good guys. Frank Broyles has probably got him half-convinced that he's the good guy. So let's think in terms of making him certain who the players are and who the white hats are."
"It's worth a try," said Ranski. "But I don't like him not telling you. I call bullshit on that."
McGrant shook her head. "Noted. Now, what else do we have here?" She was referring to the Broyles-Hoa photos.
"That's it. Photos of all meetings. It's time to take him down."
McGrant looked up from the photos. She said, "We've got them meeting twice since the reservoir. I get that. And here's the proof, the photos. I get that, too. And we've got the reservoir shots. So what do you want me to do, indict him?"
"That's exactly what I want you to do."
"Game over if we do that. We don't get to know what they're up to if we ice Broyles."
"It's time. We've gotten all we're going to get from their little tête-à-têtes. It's time to close the noose."
"You're sure this is what you want, Agent Ranski?"
"When can you get it done?"
"By Tuesday afternoon."
"We'll be waiting for the paperwork. U.S. Marshals will pick him up. No bail, can you promise me that?"
"Absolutely. He's a danger to his country. Federal judges won't dream of putting him back on the street."
"That works for me. Now, what about your boy Murfee?"
"We don't tell him yet that we know he's holding out on us. I want to keep that in reserve."
"What else?"
"He's planting a video camera for us in Broyles' office. Should I nix that?"
"No, let it go ahead."
"Why's that?"
"Let's leave the camera in the new office and keep tabs on Broyles' replacement. Something stinks in the U.S. Attorney's office. Let's make sure we've removed all the rotting carcasses before we pull out."
"I won't say anything to Murfee then."
"And keep him in place. The kid is clean and he's getting very valuable in that job. Even more so as he begins to understand his role and the fantastic access it gives him to intelligence. We'll ride that horse into the ground."
"He's a good enough kid," said McGrant. "Even though Friday night he was trying to record me saying I had set him up to spy."
"It happens. They always try that after they've had a few days to consider their own vulnerability."
"It didn't take him long," said McGrant. "Two weeks and bam, he comes at me wi
th one of those spy pens. Spare me, please."
"I know. Amateurs are ruining our world."
Both women laughed. They were old hands at their flavor of counter-espionage and they thrived on knowing they had the upper hand.
"Can you take a trip with me this afternoon?" McGrant asked. "I want to do something."
"I can. What's up?"
"I want to gather up Murfee and have a little chat with him."
"Sure, let's go now."
Ten minutes later, they managed to locate Thaddeus in the employees' dining room. He was eating alone as it was only 11:30 and the room was deserted. Upon entering, McGrant took up the seat beside him and Ranski settled in across from him. He paused, his tuna salad sandwich halfway to his mouth.
"Uh-oh," he said. "Whatever it is, just please tell me I haven't been terminated."
"No way that's going to happen, Mr. Murfee," McGrant said.
Ranski followed up, "That word, 'terminated.' It means something wholly different a block away from here in the FBI building than it does here in the U.S. Attorney's building. Funny how that works."
"Thaddeus, you've been here what, three weeks now?"
"Just over two. This is actually the start of my third."
"And you just got paid on Friday?"
"Yes."
"Do you like your job?"
"Yes."
"How would you feel about working as a double agent?"
"What's that?"
"You would be approached by the Chinese. We can make that happen but you don't need to know how. Then you would agree to trade secrets for money. Just like Mr. Broyles."
Thaddeus laid the sandwich aside.
"Are you kidding me? Where do you people come up with this stuff?"
"Your country needs you. Now more than ever."
"You’ve got the wrong guy. I just want to practice law."
"Sometimes we get called upon to serve our country. You are a patriot aren't you, Mr. Murfee?" said McGrant.
"I don't know about that. I mean if they were on our shores I'd take up a gun and fight. But spying?"
"Here's a news flash," Ranski said with a toss of her head, "they are on our shores. The Chinese are here. Half the Middle East is here. The Russians are here. All Americans who hold a unique position in government are being asked to fight back. That's why we're here talking to you, Mr. Murfee."
A Young Lawyer's story Page 7
